The Shot
by Biensche
Summary: I know before I see it that my hand will be crimson red. This is just my poor excuse for some hurt/Sam, caring/Dean.


I do not own "Supernatural".

This is just my poor excuse for some hurt/Sam, caring/Dean. (Light spoilers for "All Hell Breaks Loose – Part 1" (Season 2 Episode 21). So set somewhere after that.)

I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 **The Shot**

The sun slowly dips beyond the horizon painting the sky in a beautiful glow of red, orange, yellow, and billions of shades of blue. The fields around me wave in the summer breeze. Somewhere around me crickets chirr. The trees lining the dirt road throw long shadows. The whole picture literally represents the rural mid-west idyll.

If my brother could hear my thoughts now – he would have a ball until the rest of my days telling me what a girl I am. His voice echoes through my head calling me Samantha once more.

But in all honesty, if I had the time I would take the time to admire the beauty of the sky and landscape around me.

However, I have a job to do. So I let the beauty of the amazing sunset pass me by.

We played Rock, Paper, Scissors deciding who would get food and who would talk to the Williams who live here.

I am not half as fond of greasy food like my brother and I surely have no interest in standing beside him while he flirts with every girl around him. And I know how flirty he can get when it comes to pretty girls. So I let him win when we played. Not that he would ever know.

So he dropped me off at the dirt road leading to the farm just mere minutes ago. With a big smirk plastered on his face he waved at me through the window like an annoying and embarrassing mom that brings her kids to school. The engine purred just as always as he drove off to town to get some food and would ask around about our latest hunt while I would go to talk to the people living here.

Though Dean can't see me any longer I scoff, shake my head and begin my walk down the gravelly road.

I am walking towards the farm house which stands out dark against the still light skyline at about 50 yards at the end of the dirt road. A young man with dark blond hair steps out of the front door onto the porch. Gradually, he steps down the few steps that lead to the house and comes towards me in an equally slow walk appearing calm and relaxed.

Spotting the rifle the man carries by his side my relaxed posture crumples on the inside. On the outside I remain my calm self and try to keep my steps as fast and steady as before. Yet another reason for not taking in the beauty around me.

It is only another few yards and I call out to the man, "Hi, are you Robert Williams? I'm-"

Before I can finish, a loud bang rings out over the dirt road which is now cast in an orange-red light of the setting sun.

Surprised, I stare ahead. The barrel of the gun is still glaring at me. Almost mocking me, it still smokes.

I squint my eyes and tilt my head trying to understand what just happened. Normally, my brain is faster in getting what is going on, but right now it works like in slow motion – if at that pace at all. It all feels beyond comprehension.

My right side feels wrong and my left hand fumbles around my stomach to touch my right side. It feels moist and sticky. I bring it up to look at it.

I know before I see it that it will be crimson red.

Now, finally, my brain catches up with the recent event.

Horrified, I realize the blood on my hands, the wetness seeping through the fabric of my shirt and I gape at my red fingers and palm. Lowering my head, I take in the bright red stain on my white dress shirt.

Only now, the pain registers. A moan escapes my throat. I feel my legs buckling no longer being able to hold my weight. Ungracefully, I fall down to my knees on the dirt road. Memories of a few years prior flash before my inner eyes.

But this time it is not a knife stabbed into my back but a damn bullet in my stomach. This time it is not raining, the ground is not muddy but dusty dry. This time there is no Dean to catch me and holding me. This time I'm alone, I will die alone without Dean. Oh God, I'm alone. Lonely. Abandoned. No, I don't want to be abandoned. Has Dean abandoned me? Where is he?

I feel moisture well in my eyes. And I do not know if they are wet because of the last thoughts or because of the terrible agonizing pain in my side.

The sand and gravel from the road rub against my cheek. When did I fall over? I cannot remember.

I need to do something. But I have a hard time figuring out what. Cell phone. Call someone.

My vision starts to blur. Is it the tears or the pain or blood loss or all of it?

" _Sam?"_

There is a voice. It is Dean. I am pretty certain that it is him. But where is he?

" _I've been back at the motel room for twenty minutes. You shoulda been back here already. It's not that long a walk with that stilted legs of yours. Where are_ you _, dude?"_

I do not understand what he is talking about. Where should I be? Twenty minutes? He just dropped me off here. Right?

"Dean?"

" _Sammy?"_ His voice sounds distant and somewhat worried. Why is he worried?

"Hi."

" _Are you okay?"_ Now he sounds confused.

Am I okay? Why are we talking? Did he call me?

"Shot." My mouth moves before I know what I am saying.

" _What?"_ His voice is almost shrieking _._ Is it still Dean I am talking to? Dean's voice is husky, deep – not shrill and high-pitched.

"Dean?" I better ask to confirm.

" _Yes, Samm, I'm here. Where are you? Still at that Williams' farm?"_ Now the voice sounds like Dean. A sigh escapes my lips.

" _I'm here, Sammy. Where are you, man?"_

"Dirt… road…"

" _Hang in there, Sammy. I'm on my way."_

"Dean?" His voice sounds muffled as if I was wrapped in cotton. I need to know he is still there. Wherever that is. But I need to hear his voice.

" _I'm here, Sammy, I'm here."_

"No' alone…" Relief washes over me and I am certain he can hear it in my voice. I am glad he is there on the phone. I will not die alone.

" _I'm just a few minutes away. Hang in there! I'm almost there!"_

"'kay."

" _Talk to me, man!"_

"Hurts."

" _Hey, I got you salad. The chick told me it's the best around town. Though I doubt there's any other place that sells salad. But the chick was hot, I tell you, man. Phew!"_

Tires scrunch over the road. It has to be the Impala. I hear a familiar rumble from behind me. Only the Impala sounds like that. Suddenly the noises stop.

"Nononono", I murmur. They cannot stop. They must not stop. I need Dean. It has to be the Impala. Dean drives it. Only Dean. Dean has to be in the Impala. I need my big brother. He can make everything alright. I cannot have imagined the car. "No. Be here."

"Sammy." My big brother's gentle, rough voice penetrates the fog in my brain. I feel relief flowing through my body and mind. Dean is here. He can make it okay. He has not abandoned me.

"Dean."

"I'm here, Sammy, I'm here."

I flinch at his unexpected touch and groan. More pain shoots through my body.

"Shhh, shhh", he soothes, "easy, easy."

I feel him cradling my face, his eyes probably roaming my body.

"Who?" Dean's voice is calm and collected but I know he is not.

"Williams", I breathe.

I swear I can hear my brother grinding his teeth and feel the aura around him grow cold, hard, angry, and tensed. But when he caresses my hair from my forehead none of that is in his touch only warmth, tenderness, and caring.

Dean manhandles me into a sitting position leaving me leaning breathlessly against him. "C'mon man, just a few steps and you'll be in the car. No need to bleed out here on the road."

"Better in the 'pala?" I push out through gritted teeth. I feel a little bit clearer in the head now that he is around. I am not alone anymore. It feels like a heavy weight is taken off my chest.

"No, actually not. The upholstery actually doesn't need to be spotted red." Dean replies.

"Put tarp… down on the seat."

"Sure!" He grins and then mocks, "Oh, I forgot. That's not exactly in my equipment!"

"Should… put it in."

"Yeah, probably." Dean muses. He prods and pokes all around me. I have a hard time following or even registering his moves.

"No closing your eyes yet!" Dean orders gently.

"'m not."

"Really? So what do you see then, huh?"

"Uh… oh…" Obviously, I closed my eyes even if I cannot remember when that happened. I peel them open to small slits. That is about all I can manage.

"So much for that, Sammy. Keep 'em open."

"Open? What?" I frown, not understanding what I am supposed to keep open.

"Your eyes, man."

"Oh, 'kay."

"If I help you stand can you take a few steps to the car?"

Walking seems like a very bad idea. If I could, I would have made my way out of here. I shake my head.

"Alright." Dean sighs.

"Wouldn't the car be nicer to lay down in than the dirty, dusty gravel track they call road?"

I frown not understanding what he is talking about. So I decide to shake my head.

"Actually, that wasn't a question I wanted an answer to."

"Rhetorical." I try to explain.

"I'm not retro."

I furrow my brow as I try to comprehend my brother. But I am having a hard time focusing long enough to follow his conversation or orders. So I do not get his attempt at teasing.

Suddenly, I feel myself being lifted from the ground and only my feet are touching it. I believe that it is a bad idea. My legs are surely made of jell-o. Maybe they are raspberry flavored. I grin.

That is until my left arm is pulled over Dean's shoulders. He keeps a tight grip on my left wrist. One of his arms is firmly wrapped around my waist holding me up. White-hot-pain like fire spreads from his pulling and holding me up. But Dean does not let go. Instead he coaxes me to move my feet, one after the other. I am unable to plant my feet in a steady walk on the ground and I know he carries most of my weight while I drag my feet over the gravel wherever Dean wants me to go. I think I groan and wheeze but I cannot be too sure.

"Good Lord, Sammy. How is it that you weigh as much as an elephant though you only eat this green stuff?"

"Heavy… bones."

"Yeah, that's probably it."

"Elephants… only eat… plants… too." I pant.

I hear Dean huff and feel him shake his head against my shoulder while he keeps on pushing me forward.

"Sit down, Sammy." Dean gently lowers me into the seat of his car and helps me get my legs and feet inside.

My eyelids feel heavy like lead and a comfortable darkness surrounds me like a cozy blanket. Dean talks to me and the last words I hear from the dark always a little hoarse sounding voice are,

"I'll take care of you."


End file.
